It's always darkest before the dawn
by OnAHunt
Summary: After months of research leading nowhere, with no hope of reversing the effects of the Mark of Cain, and Deanmon getting more powerful every time he spills blood for the First Blade... Sam gets a surprising call in the middle of the night.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: So I know that in a few days this story will be AU, but I had to get it started before Season 10 aired as it's been floating around in my head for a while. I think this will be a much darker side of Deanmon than the one we'll see on the show. A later chapter will be MUCH darker, but I'll give you plenty of warning.

P.S. I don't have a beta so all mistakes are my own.

**It's always darkest before the dawn**

_"Sometimes you have to confront your demons and sometimes even let them loose to genuinely find a place where you can gain some understanding" - __Peter Mullan_

_"Human beings, we have dark sides; we have dark issues in our lives. To progress anywhere in life, you have to face your demons" - John Noble_

Sam sat at his usual desk in the library with his head in his hands. Reading by the dim glow of the table's lamp was usually a comfort, but for the past six months Sam's research had gotten him no where and it was making his eyes hurt.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and stretched out his tense jaw, noting how desperate he was for a shave.

He slammed the massive book he had been reading shut with a sigh. Sam had spent months trying to find a way to reverse the effects of the Mark of Cain, trying to find anything that could help to bring his brother back, but he was coming up empty.

The few encounters they had had with "Dean" in his current stated had not ended well, it was clear that the demon was enjoying life without limits and was becoming more bloodthirsty as time went on. Even Crowley, the last time Sam and Cas had summoned him, was wary of the power Dean was acquiring, no doubt through fueling the First Blade's blood lust.

Sam growled in frustration, stood up quickly and swiped the entire contents of the table onto the floor with the back of his hand.

He gripped the edge of the table and let his head hang between his shoulders.

Castiel looked up from the pile of reference materials he was re-reading for the third time on the next desk.

"Don't, Cas. Just... Don't say it," Sam pleaded, not wanting a lecture right now.

The former angel placed the file he was holding down and rose from his chair. Stepping carefully around the piles of books stacked near the desks, he moved to stand beside Sam and placed a hand gently on his shoulder.

"I know you won't give up, Sam." Castiel said quietly. "Neither will I. We both want Dean back and for this whole thing to be over, but maybe you should take a break?"

Cas was right, they were working themselves into the ground. If When they find some clue to reversing the Mark, they will need to be on their A game if they have any chance of capturing Dean again.

Sam looked up into his friend's blue eyes and nodded. He straightened and clasped Cas on the shoulder,smiling his gratitude.

"Come on, I know it's too late for dinner and too early for breakfast but I'm sure there's something in the kitchen we can rustle up for brinner."

The pair stepped over and around the mess Sam had created on the floor and headed out of the library together.

"I've not heard this term 'brinner' before," Castiel frowned.

"Brinner, as in breakfast and dinner. You know, like breakfast and lunch is brunch."

"Hmm, it seems plausible."

Sam laughed at the fallen angel's response. They had become much closer in the last few months and Sam relished the camaraderie.

* * *

><p>It had been awkward when Castiel first arrived at the Bunker, Sam had a lot of questions about what happened in heaven that Castiel wasn't ready to answer yet and Castiel was finding it hard to adjust to life without grace. Their common goal of getting Dean back had brought them together, and in time Castiel had opened up to Sam and Sam did his best to help Cas with any questions he had about being human, no matter how personal or embarassing.<p>

Mostly they talked about Dean. It had started two weeks after Cas had fallen, landing outside the Bunker's front door with a plea to stay. Sam had welcomed him in with open arms, glad of a familiar face and a research partner. They didn't speak about Dean, both actively avoiding the subject, but both using the library's resources wordlessly to find answers or a cure to Dean's current state.

Two weeks passed without a mention of Dean or the demon, until the day Sam brought an apple pie home from the store with the rest of the groceries for the week. It was subconcious, he hadn't meant to buy a pie, it was a automated reaction left over from decades of living with his brother.

The pie sat on the kitchen table in front of Sam when Cas walked in. The former angel had blinked and sat himself down opposite the hunter, the pie directly between them.

"So–"

"Yep." Sam cut him off.

Neither spoke, just looking at the pie for what felt like hours, but was in reality only a few minutes.

"You know, Dean would be pissed, demon or not, if we let a perfectly decent pie go to waste," Sam said pushing a fork across the table.

"He would indeed be very angry, I think it's only right we eat this pie in his honour."

The elephant in the room was no more. The pair spent the next hour eating the accidental pie and telling each other stories about Dean, from the time he took Sam to hospital on the handlebars of his bike, to when Dean had taken Cas to the brothel.

* * *

><p>Right now, Castiel was telling the story about the time he had shown up on the Impala covered in bees.<p>

"The look on his face was very amusing, like an angry goldfish. Then he started shouting at me to get off the hood."

Sam laughed, he could imagine just how Dean would react if someone covered his cars in bees. He put an arm out and stopped Cas walking any further. "Hey, weren't you naked? Dean said you turned up naked once, covered in bees."

Castiel continued walking, his cheeks slightly flushed. "I may have been naked. I wasn't exactly _compos mentis_ at the time."

"Jeez, Cas. Most people go skinny dipping for a bit of a thrill but naked with bees?! That's not advisa–"

Sam stopped mid-pace.

It couldn't be.

Silence. Maybe Sam was hearing things.

But no, there it was again.

Castiel, realising Sam had stopped, looked back and saw all the blood rush out of the taller man's face.

The sound of Smoke on the Water played faintly through the hall.

It was Sam's other other phone, the one only Dean knew the number for.

He turned tail and ran back to the library, Castiel on his heel. Skidding to a halt, he was down on his knees rummaging through the mess he'd made moments earlier searching for the phone. Finally he grabbed it and looked at the caller ID, he didn't recognise it.

"Should I answer it?" He asked, turning to Cas.

The fallen angel shrugged in response.

Hesitantly, Sam pressed the answer button and held the phone to his ear.

"Sammy?"

Sam's breath caught in his chest, his heart hammering.

"Sam! You there?" The voice sounded weak, tired and uncertain.

"Yeah, Dean. I'm here." Sam finally managed to speak. Castiel moved closer, trying to listen to what was being said on the other end of the phone.

"Sammy, I don't know what happened... I don't know where I am, there's nothing for miles but this pay phone." Dean sounded genuinely confused. Which confused Sam.

"Dean, what happened?"

"I don't know, I can't remember. I woke up here," Dean's voice faltered. "I'm hurt, Sammy."

"Okay, Dean. Hang on, we're coming to get you."

**To be continued...**


	2. Chapter 2

"It's probably a trap." Castiel said from the passenger seat of his Lincoln Continental. It was a statement of fact, no hint of emotion coming through in his tone.

They'd been on the road for an hour already and neither of them had said a word.

Sam gripped the steering wheel tighter and clenched his jaw, "I know. But we have to be sure. If there's even the smallest chance Dean is... is Dean again, we can't risk leaving him in the middle of nowhere, injured."

Sam paused. "He sounded scared."

He looked across at Cas, seeking reassurance that they were doing the right thing. Castiel nodded once and Sam turned back to the road encouraged by the response, slightly.

After the call from Dean, Sam had scrambled about on the floor looking for his laptop in the mess of books, paper and anything else that had been on the library desk at the time of his rage. Luckily the laptop had been sandwiched between layers of paper and seemed to survive the fall with nothing but a minor crack on one of the corners.

Castiel had picked up the books and papers from the floor and deposited them on the next desk before disappeared into another part of the Bunker, his actions not registering with Sam as the youngest Winchester started to trace the payphone number.

It took him ten minutes to find the location and plan a route. It would take them four hours to get to Dean, less if Sam drove and didn't stick to the speed limit. They still hadn't managed to persuade Castiel to break that law, every attempt responded to with a curt "There's a limit for a reason."

Sam called out to Cas as he strode out of the library, pocketing his other other phone as he went.

The former angel rushed into the room and walked right past Sam, he had two bags slung over his shoulders and carried two more, one in each hand.

"I have everything we need," he threw over his shoulder, making his way to the garage. Sam following behind.

It took them three and a half hours to get to the long empty road the payphone was on, and another ten minutes until the Impala came into view, illuminated by their headlights. Dean was right, there was nothing for miles in any direction save for the payphone and piles of rubble here and there which suggested there had once been a building of some sort.

Sam pulled the car to a stop a few metres behind the 1967 Chevrolet and cut the engine. He took a deep breath and accepted his knife from Castiel.

"Ready?"

Castiel nodded once and clutched the angel blade tighter in his hand. He also had a bottle, which Sam hoped to God was filled with holy water.

The pair exited the car and moved towards the Impala warily. Each taking a side, they moved quietly past the car checking for any signs of Dean within. The Impala was empty, save for the junk food containers littering the back seat. Sam gestured to start moving towards the payphone.

It was hard to make out what was shrubbery and what was rubble in the darkness. Sam cursed himself for not bringing a flashlight.

They reached the phone but there was still no sign of Dean. Sam retrieved his other other phone from his back pocket and pressed redial. The payphone sent out a shrill ring, piercing through the deafening silence of the night air.

"Well we're in the right place," Sam whispered hanging up. The light of his display lit up the payphone, throwing light onto the blood smeared hand print on the receiver. Sam's breath hitched in his throat.

A small part of him wished it was someone else's blood, that the demon had injured some other person before making the call. But his gut told him otherwise; Dean was hurt.

The sound of rock smashing into rock broke him out of this thoughts. It came from the direction of the cars.

Sam and Cas started running towards the cars but the sound came again and had them veering off their original path, slightly to the left.

If they were running any faster they would have tripped over the figure laying propped up against a pile of rubble and concrete slabs, legs stretched out in front of him. One arm angled awkwardly to reach the top of the pile, the figure was tiredly pushing at loose stones and muttering something incoherent.

"Dean!" Castiel cried rushing to crouch by his side. "We're here Dean, it's okay."

Cas put down his blade and gently pulled Dean's arm back down to his side. Reaching out, he then took the younger man's chin from his chest and tipped his head back to rest against the makeshift wall behind him. Dean's lips moving quietly.

Sam stood like a statue at Dean's feet, taking in the sight before him. There was blood, lots of blood but in the dark there was no way to tell where it was coming from or if it was fresh. He had seen Dean bloody and bruised from fights before, he'd watched him die over a hundred times but it never got any easier.

Slowly moving to Dean's other side and squatting next to him, Sam could make out the words still coming out of Dean's mouth.

"I'm here, Sammy. Sammy, I'm here." Over and over again, he kept saying them like a mantra. "I'm here, Sammy. Sammy, I'm here."

A tear escaped Sam's eye and slowly traced a path down his cheek. Relief and sadness washed over him, he felt like a thousand weights had been lifted from his shoulders and replaced with a thousand more.

He took his brother's right hand into both of his and whispered, "I'm here, Dean. I've got you, you're safe now."

Dean's words faltered as Sam's words hit him. He slowly, painfully turned his head to look at his little brother. His eyes seemed to focus for the first time. A ghost of a smile flitted across his face and his fingers moved slightly against Sam's in an attempt at a squeeze.

"You came."

Castiel held the bottle of water up for Sam to take, but Sam was reluctant to let go of his brother with either hand and shook his head. Instead, he gently turned Dean's head to face the same direction as the rest of his body and held the bottle up to Dean's lips.

Dean greedily drank the water without complaint making both Sam and Castiel let out small sighs of relief.

"Can you walk?" Cas asked, taking the bottle away.

Dean suddenly turned to looked at him, as if just realising he was there.

"Cas." The ghost of a smile once again crossed Dean's face.

"Hello, Dean." Castiel gave him a reassuring smile. "You are cold, we should move to the cars."

"Yeah, okay."

He struggled to move his legs into a position that would give him enough leverage to stand, but with Sam and Castiel's help he was eventually upright but with no chance of staying that way without their support.

It was only as they half dragged, half carried Dean back to the car that either of them realised how cold Dean was. Each of them feeling his shivering on their sides.

Dean was wet, head to toe damp and Sam once again cursed himself for not thinking of bringing any spare clothes or a blanket. He just hoped it had rained earlier and it wasn't all blood.

As Sam got Dean settled on the trunk of the Impala, Cas had moved to his own car and turned on the headlights to give them some light to work with.

Sam stood between his brother's legs and looked at Dean's face. His older brother was tired, he had dark circles around his eyes and his eyelids must have seemed heavy as they took longer to open again on each blink. There was a cut running from his left eyebrow into his hairline, his bottom lip was split and there was a trail of dried blood leading from his nose to his mouth.

Castiel laid out two of the four bags he had packed on the trunk of the Impala next to Dean. The dark haired man rummaged through one until he pulled out a towel and handed it to Sam. Castiel had thought of everything.

Sam gently started drying Dean's hair, a wave of sadness washing over him when his brother leaned into the touch and rested his forehead on Sam's chest, closing his eyes. He moved on to dry Dean's neck before pushing the older man back so he could remove the leather jacket.

It seemed demon Dean had forgone the usual shirt over his t-shirt, so when Sam pulled the jacket off Dean's shoulders and slowly took each arm out, Sam couldn't help noticing the lack of the Mark on his forearm. There wasn't even a trace of a scar.

Cas noticed as well, taking the jacket and folding it neatly he shared a relieved but confused look with Sam.

Next came the t-shirt and both men took a sharp intake of breath at the mess of wounds that littered Dean's chest and abdomen. Some seemed older but most looked fresh.

As Sam carefully dried Dean off, Dean registered no signs of pain until Sam reached his left shoulder. Dean whimpered at the contact, eyes still closed but scrunched up at the pain. Pulling his hand away quickly, Sam saw fresh blood soaked into the towel. Castiel already had the med kit out and was moving to get a better look. Sam moved Dean around on the car to give Castiel more light and a better angle to work from.

Dean hissed as Cas started to patch him up and Sam moved closer to pull him into a one armed embrace, stroking his hair to calm him.

When Cas finished applying the bandage to cover the stitches, he handed Sam a clean t-shirt and one of Dean's warmest plaid shirts to dress him in.

It was slow going but eventually Dean was clothed head to toe in a clean and dry outfit, even down to his underwear. Sam had grunted a 'sorry' as he hastily dried Dean's crotch and pulled clean boxers onto him. That moment would be filed in the never ever mention in a million years pile, along with the handful of other times they'd helped each other in similar situations during their adult lives.

Still shivering, Dean was wrapped in Sam's jacket and a blanket Cas had packed, and was settled in the passenger side of Castiel's car with the heat on and drifted off to sleep.

Having agreed with Cas that it would be best to get back to the Bunker rather than finding a motel, Sam set off with Dean as the sun began to rise. Castiel followed closely behind in the Impala, not hesitating to break the law to keep up with the Winchesters this time.

A/N: I haven't proofed this properly in my rush to get another chapter out before Season 10 starts so forgive any mistakes (let me know if you spot any and I'll correct them - unless you're correcting UK for US spellings, I won't apologise for using S instead of Z or adding U in seemingly unexpectedly).


	3. Chapter 3

I finally watched the Season 10 premiere (Dean, no!) and wanted to reflect some of the elements of that in here to a degree but this is AU so tellings of demon Dean may be a little different than we see on screen. I'd love to know what you think!

**Chapter 3**

It had been hard not knowing what happened to Dean in those first six weeks after he'd mysteriously disappeared. Sam had gone to extremes to try and gain any insight into his brother's whereabouts. He wasn't proud of what he did, how dark it got, but he knew in a heartbeat that he'd do it all over again if he had to. Sam had even dragged Castiel out on a few occasions to hunt down a demon for information, until it became clear that the angel's fading grace was more of an issue than either of them realised. His right arm had been in a sling for twelve weeks after their last hunt together.

When he'd found out Dean was a demon – not just possessed, actual demon – it was somehow easier. He was focused, he finally knew what happened and that he had to find a cure. He was also focused on Crowley, the son of a bitch who was responsible for this in the first place, the man who knew what the Mark would do to his brother but didn't say a word, not one damn word. The King of Hell had set them up. Surprise, Surprise!

But Crowley's master plan to create the perfect Hell with Dean's help had backfired. It backfired because Dean had a problem with authority, but demon Dean had an even bigger problem with authority. Sam often got a sick sense of pleasure from picturing Crowley's smug smile drop when he realised Dean had defected. What Sam didn't know was that the smug smile turned into a grimace of 'oh crap, I've created a monster'.

The sun was high in the sky by the time they reached the Bunker. Dean had slept against the passenger door for the entire journey back to Lebanon, still wrapped up in the blanket and Sam's jacket.

He didn't wake up when Sam pulled into the garage, parked and shut off the engine. He didn't wake up when Sam carefully opened the passenger door and carried him through the corridors to his room. He didn't wake up when Sam pulled off his boots, untangled him from the blanket, slipper the jacket off his shoulders and tucked him under the covers on his bed.

Sam was a little worried by this but at the same time grateful he was able to sleep for more than a few hours, after seeing Dean's cut and bruised face in the light of day, he knew his brother needed the time to recuperate.

He left the small desk lamp on but turned the main lights off in the room and went to grab a book from his room; he didn't want Dean to wake up in the dark, confused and alone.

Castiel met him in the corridor outside Sam's room.

"How is he?"

"Still asleep," Sam tried to sound positive. "He's not shivering anymore."

Castiel could sense the concern in Sam's voice. He nodded and walked past the taller man, patting him on the shoulder.

"His body will heal."

"But what about his mind?" Sam whispered as the former angel disappeared into his own room.

The next few hours seemed to drag, Sam read in Dean's room and Castiel pottered around the Bunker aimlessly, checking in every half hour. Sam eventually fell asleep on Dean's chair, book strewn across his stomach and head lolling awkwardly down onto his chest.

Sam must have been asleep for twenty minutes when Castiel nudged his shoulder. His hunter reflexes sprung into action and he was on his feet looking around frantically before he realised where he was.

"You looked uncomfortable," Cas offered apologetically. "Maybe you should go to bed?"

"I'm okay, must've dozed off for a bit."

"Dean will be fine, I can watch over him if you need to rest." Castiel's stomach growled.

"You need to rest too, Cas. When was the last time you ate?" It was now three in the afternoon and Sam realised they never got as far as the kitchen for brinner last night.

"11am, yesterday."

"Same. Dean'll be okay here if we go make some sandwiches." Although he didn't quite believe it. The last time Sam left Dean alone in this room, Dean was gone by the time he'd got back. He cast one last glace back at his big brother who was still sleeping peacefully before following Cas to the kitchen.

"I still can't quite believe we actually got him back," Sam said spreading slices of bread with peanut butter. "I mean, we've been waiting for this moment for 10 months and now it's here..."

Castiel was pouring out two large mugs of coffee from the pot.

"I know what you mean, but it is very real. The question is, why?"

Sam stopped spreading. "What do you mean 'why'? I could understand a 'how' but a 'why'? You can't think there's some ulterior motive at work here?"

"What I mean is, why is this happening now? Whatever or whomever did this must have had a reason to wait this long."

Sam was about to respond but was cut off by Dean's call of "Sammy?" coming from down the hallway.

Sam and Cas quickly moved into the corridor to meet a stumbling Dean Winchester, rubbing the heal of his right hand into his eye sleepily and bracing himself on the wall with his left.

"Dean!" Sam shouted rushing forward to help support his brother.

Dean brushed him off with a soft push and a grunt, "I can walk."

"How are you feeling, Dean?" Castiel asked, hanging back to watch the brothers' interaction.

"Hey, Cas! I'm just peachy," he smiled up at his friend, moving toward the kitchen. "But if you got the number of that bus that hit me, I'd like to make a complaint."

"You were hit by a bus?"

"No, man. It's... never mind."

The group moved, slowly, into the kitchen and Dean eased himself down onto one of the seats at the table.

Sam plated one of the finished PB&J's and plonked it down on the table in front of Dean. The older Winchester smiled at the gesture, knowing that Sam giving up a PB&J was practically an 'I love you, man'.

"Did you sleep well?" Cas asked.

"Yes, mom." Dean replied through a mouth full of sandwich.

Sam and Cas watched him eat.

"So," Dean started when he'd finished his mouthful, looking up at the two pairs of eyes trained on him. "What's going on? You're freaking me out."

Sam sat down on the seat opposite his brother.

"Dean, what's the last thing you remember – before we found you last night?"

Dean paused his chewing and frowned. He couldn't quite put his finger on the exact moment, everything was a little bit hazy. He swallowed and cleared his throat.

"Uh, Metatron?" He hesitated. "I confronted that son of a bitch... You lied."

Dean met Sam's gaze, he remembered the look in Sam's eye when he had been stabbed by Metatron and was dying, he saw it again now and it confused him. He was fine, he'd obviously blacked out for a bit, possibly days, but Sam must have patched him up pretty good because he was still standing. Something wasn't right though, Sam looked like a kicked puppy.

"Sam, what's going on?"

"Dean, that was ten months ago."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note:** Hello and thanks for sticking with me! It's been a long while since I've written any fanfic (used to do Stargate and Harry Potter a really long time ago) but I think I'm getting back into the flow. Please let me know what you think so far...

A massive THANK YOU to CornishGirl for pointing out that the original Chapter 4 had all the HMTL coding in it (thanks for nothing) – you're a life saver :-)

**Chapter 4**

__"Dean, that was ten months ago."__

Ten months. Dean tried to remember something, anything from the last ten months. He'd lost ten months... and some, he realised as he racked his brain. The weeks leading up to his confrontation with Metatron were disjointed in his mind; broken snippets of memories jumbled together told him enough to know what happened, but there were still some blanks.

His mind was full of images of the First Blade. The thought of it made Dean's skin crawl and there was a bitter taste on his tongue. This new feeling of, what was he feeling? Disgust? Guilt? Whatever it was, it was a stark contrast to how he had felt about the Blade before, when he had held it in his hand and spilled demon blood with it. Back then he had craved the power like a drug he couldn't get enough of, it had drawn him in and gotten him addicted to killing.

The silence in the kitchen was palpable. It had been almost a minute since Sam had told his brother that the last memory Dean had was ten months old. Dean sat with his head bowed, staring at nothing on the table and lost to his thoughts. The memory of the Blade was making him feel on-edge and jittery, his heart was hammering in his chest and his palms were starting to sweat. He didn't know why, it was just demons he killed, right?

Sam sat opposite Dean, looking at his brother in anticipation and waiting for some kind of reaction. Castiel held a mug of coffee with both hands in the middle of the room, he was caught somewhere between wanting to move to the table to give Dean the mug and not wanting to move a muscle in case it broke the silence and the illusion of calm it was creating.

After a few seconds, Castiel made the decision to move from his spot and slowly but surely walked over to Dean. Carefully, he set the mug down next to the plate of half eaten sandwich.

The sound of the mug touching down on the table broke Dean out of his reverie, as Cas had suspected. Blood hammering in his ears, Dean pushed the plate away from him; his appetite suddenly gone. "No, you're lying again," Dean shot toward Sam before making for the door as quickly as his broken body would allow, pushing past a startled Cas as he went.

Dean got as far as the hallway before the pain became too much and he started to crumple to the floor. Sam got up to help but Cas was quicker and was already at Dean's side by the time Sam made it around the table. Cas moved their bodies together so Dean could lean against his side. Dean let Cas duck under his good arm so he could wrap it around the former angel's shoulders, while Cas supported him with one arm around his waist and the other hand pressed against his ribs to keep them both upright.

The hammering in his ears calmed in the presence of the man pressed against his side. But his heart still hammered under Castiel's hand and his breath was coming in short gasps. Castiel knew enough about human reactions to guess that the younger man was close to having some sort of panic attack, so started to move the hand on his back gently up and down in what he hoped was a calming motion.

After a short time, Dean's breathing slowed to a more normal pace and his heart didn't beat as fast under Cas' hand. Cas could feel the hunter's body relax into him and he struggled to keep them both on their feet. "You should rest, Dean."

Slowly they moved towards the bedrooms, neither saying a word but both knowing when the other needed to stop for a break or readjust their hold on each other slightly. When they eventually reached the right room, Cas gently manoeuvred Dean around his body so they were face to face, the back of Dean's knees brushing the bed.

Blue eyes met green; their bodies barely a few inches apart. Dean's breath hitched in his throat and he swayed slightly. Castiel thought he was starting to panic again so gripped Dean's upper arms as Dean steadied himself by placing his hands on the shorter man's chest.

They stood face to face, both trying to find answers in the other's eyes.

Dean broke their staring contest to search Cas' face in the dim light for confirmation that Sam had been lying, but he couldn't find any sign. The only thing he could determine for sure was that Cas was tired, the dark circles under his eyes and the stubble on his chin made him seem almost human... Dean took a sharp intake of breath and tried to move back, only the bed stopped him.

The darker haired man tilted his head to the side before realising what had just happened. "Dean," his voice didn't seem as deep or commanding as it usually did. "I am human again, or I would have taken away your pain."

The thought that Cas might be human hadn't even crossed Dean's mind. The last time they met, Cas had been an angel, albeit an angel with stolen grace, but beggars can't be choosers. He thought his friend would have tried to find his own grace, how was he surviving without it? He could see now that being human for this long must have been tough; Cas seemed skinnier than he had been before, or it could be that he was wearing one of the Winchester's old flannels that was too big for him.

"I'm sorry." Dean whispered.

"For what?" At the back of Castiel's mind there was a growing feeling of dread at the thought that Dean might have remembered something from his months as a demon. Something in the pit of his stomach lurched at the thought that Dean still didn't know that he had been a demon.

"For humanity," The corner of Dean's mouth turned up into a bitter smile. "It sucks, man."

He flopped back onto the bed and out of Castiel's grip. He winced as he landed on his injured shoulder but quickly rolled away to face the wall, hiding his pain and the tears that threatened to spill.

Castiel felt a twinge of sadness at the loss of Dean's contact. He hated to see his friend in pain, whether physical or emotional, and he hated that he could no longer do anything about it. He hated that Dean always tried to hide it. After a brief moment, he lifted the discarded blanket from the bottom of the bed and placed it over Dean who had his eyes closed, feigning sleep.

* * *

><p>Sam stood in the kitchen watching Cas lead Dean away slowly. He didn't know what he had expected to happen when Dean woke up, maybe he was hoping they'd get some answers and that Dean would be okay. It was clear that Dean wasn't okay and judging by the amount of time missing from Dean's memory, he might not be okay for a very long time.<p>

In a way, he was glad Dean didn't remember his time as a demon; Sam wished he didn't remember Dean as a demon. The memories often haunted him at night, or in the day, or whenever he could bear to close his eyes and attempted to sleep.

Sam thought about Dean's words, "_you lied_". Dean remembered that much then, the lies he had told his big brother about not being willing to save him. It was a crappy thing to do, to say that to someone, although he thought he'd meant it at the time. In reality, it was Sam's attempt at getting Dean to let him go, even though he knew Dean didn't have it in him – it had always been Dean's prerogative to protect him, always had and always will (with the exception of possession or being turned into a demon). He knew Dean had meant it in a 'you do care about me' kind of way, but it still hurt to think Dean's last memory was of him lying, again. And now Dean didn't seem to trust anything he said.

It was easier when they were kids, Sam would lie about small things and seemingly get away with them. His usual was going to the library 'for research' when he was actually doing a week's worth of homework, or when he'd faked illnesses to stay at Pastor Jim's for two weeks when Dad and Dean were off hunting just before he had exams. But recently his lies that were meant to protect Dean just ended up hurting them both, hurting his brother. Sam promised himself he'd be as truthful as possible from now on, even if that meant Dean might get hurt in the process; hurt from the truth is better than the betrayal of a lie.

He couldn't stay in the kitchen forever, but he wanted to give Dean some space. Besides, Cas would make sure Dean was okay. He started to clear up the used plates and mugs. He started making a mental list of things to do before Dean emerged from his room again: tidy the mess in the library, clean the Impala inside and out, and check the car to make sure the First Blade hadn't made it back into Dean's possession after Crowley had confiscated it. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

><p><em><em>Blood dripped from the Blade in his hand. He felt the surge of power course through his body as he stood over the man he had just killed. Eyes flicked from green to black and back again. He felt good.<em>_


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note:** Sorry this took so long to write, just couldn't get into this chapter!

**Chapter 5**

Dean slept. For five days he spent most of the time in his room sleeping, only getting up for an hour or two to eat and relieve himself. Occasionally he dozed off in one of the more comfortable armchairs in the library and woke up covered in a blanket, never sure how long he'd been there or which of the other men had tucked him up.

On the first day after Dean's attempted kitchen storm out, the Winchesters said very little to each other. On the second day Dean muttered a 'sorry' as they crossed paths in the hallway. On the third day he sat opposite his brother at the kitchen table, eyes locked for a second before he looked down at his hands and whispered, "Thanks, man."

Castiel watched the brothers' exchanges curiously, even in human form he couldn't shake his two thousand year old duty of observing human interactions, he often found himself wondering at the shift in Dean and Sam's behaviours as they slipped into old and familiar patterns.

He paid particular attention to their physical proximity. The Winchester brothers had never been 'touchy feely' types, always quick to pull the personal space card whenever they felt like it, but they had always been close. As Castiel observed them now, he knew that their bond was once again facing challenges. When Dean was awake he wanted to be around Sam, making sure he was eating and sleeping properly, and taking comfort in his brother's presence. The problem being that Sam, whether he realised or not, was keeping a distance between himself and his older brother; he shifted uncomfortably when Dean sat next to him at meal times, and busied himself with something on the other side of the room whenever Dean ended up in his favourite armchair in the library.

Even though Sam had almost worked himself into the ground doing whatever he could to find a cure for Dean, and was extremely grateful to have him back, it was evident that Dean's time as a demon was still playing on his mind. Castiel thought that Sam's attempted distance could be justified given what had happened with the demon, however he was annoyed at the hunter for not being as receptive as Dean needed right now.

* * *

><p>A week in and Dean seemed to be healing well, he spent much more time out of his room than in it and had started cooking again – one meal a day but they marked it down as progress.<p>

With Dean out of his room more and Sam pretending to be busy the majority of the time, Dean sought out Castiel's company, which the former Angel was glad of. Cas would be cleaning the kitchen or making lunch and Dean would silently walk in, perch on the table and fiddle with something. Cas could be in the depths of the Bunker cataloguing ancient artefacts and Dean would find him, silently kneel down next to him and start unpacking a crate. They didn't say much, exchanging the usual pleasantries in the morning and night but working silently in between.

On the ninth night, Castiel was sitting in bed reading To Kill A Mockingbird by the light of the small bedside lamp Sam had bought him when he'd moved in. It was late, possibly early hours but he was almost at the end – it seemed pointless to put the book down with only one and a half chapters left. Castiel didn't do pointless. He looked up from the book when he heard a small shuffling sound at the door. Dean was standing in the doorway, just a shadow in the lamp light. Both Sam and Castiel had been leaving their doors slightly ajar each night since Dean had returned, just in case. Castiel found himself listening out for any noise from Dean's room during the first few nights, occasionally walking to the other man's room to find him sound asleep.

Dean moved forward slightly into the light of the room, he was wearing pyjama pants and an old Metallica t-shirt that had a small hole near the bottom. Dean looked hesitant, his right hand fingering the hole in the material. His hair was slightly mussed and his eyes were squinting slightly at the light, Castiel concluded that he had just woken up.

"Hello, Dean," He smiled, folding an ear into the page he was on. Sam had found a collection of old classics at a second hand store in town, this particular copy was battered already and Castiel thought Sam wouldn't mind if another page was folded at the corner. He set the book down next to the lamp.

"Your light was on," Dean said as if that explained everything.

"It was, it still is."

There was a pregnant pause.

"Do you want to come in?" Castiel prompted.

Dean nodded and moved further into the room. It was the first time he'd seen it this way; lived in. He'd seen this room before, when him and Sam were picking out their rooms, back then everything had been covered in dust sheets. It was kind of the same, he figured, sans dust sheets. Cas didn't really have any personal affects, the only touches he'd added were the books in the bookcase and the trenchcoat hung on the coat stand.

"I like what you've done with the place." He tentatively walked around the bed, hand skimming along the bookcase, until he stopped and sat on the only chair in the room.

"Thank you, it's not much but it serves it's purpose."

Dean huffed out what sounded like a small laugh but a smile didn't reach his face.

"Are you alright, Dean?"

Fingers were back on the hole in the t-shirt, fiddling nervously.

"I uh-" He sighed and looked up at his friend's concerned blue eyes. "I've been having these dreams, bad dreams."

Castiel waited silently for Dean to continue.

"Dreams where I'm standing over someone holding the First Blade, the Blade and my hands are covered in blood." Dean leans his arms on his legs, head cradled in his hands.

Castiel moves from his position against the headboard to sit on the edge of the bed, knees inches from Dean's. He rests he elbows on his legs so he's at Dean's level.

"Is it the same dream every time?"

"Yeah, mostly. Sometimes there's chicks and karaoke, but mostly it's this guy. I don't know who it was, some guy I've never seen before."

"And that's what woke you up?"

Dean doesn't answer, staring at the floor willing a hole to appear and swallow him up. What did he come into Cas' room, why couldn't he have just ignored the dream again and gone back to sleep?

"Dean, having nightmares is nothing to be ashamed of," Castiel reached out a hand and laid it gently on Dean's forearm. "Since taking human form again, I have experienced these bad dreams. They are not pleasant."

Dean looked up then, face like a lost child's.

"This time... This time I heard laughing. It was me laughing, only it sounded different. It was menacing but it was coming out of my mouth."

Cas didn't say anything, trying to determine the best way to handle this without alerting Dean to the fact that he had been a demon and most probably killed that man.

"Anyway, I should let you finish that book."

Castiel's eyes snapped back to Dean who was getting up and moving across the room. The sudden change in attitude a clear sign that Dean had realised he was emoting. In true Dean Winchester style he'd buried it faster than a scared ostrich buries it's head in the sand. It tugged on Cas' heart strings, just how much Dean wouldn't allow himself to show weakness, even to those closest to him.

Dean had reached the door by the time Castiel spoke.

"Dean, I'm here when if need me. I sleep now but I don't mind being woken up."

With a small nod of gratitude or acknowledgement, Cas couldn't determine which, Dean disappeared back to his room.

* * *

><p>The next day Castiel imparted Dean's midnight visit to Sam in the kitchen while Dean was showering.<p>

"So it's started then," Sam sighed plating some questionable looking pancakes. "I was hoping he wouldn't ever remember."

Cas was sat at the table nursing a coffee, the hood of Sam's old red sweater pulled up over his head like a guard against the day. Castiel wasn't a morning person.

"I had hoped that too," Cas took a long slurp of the hot drink as Sam sat down across from him, concerned etched across the young man's features. "Perhaps he won't remember everything."

Cas' words of encouragement did nothing to quell the fear in the pit of Sam's empty stomach.

"I don't know if we'll be able to get through this, Cas."

"We will. It will be hard but together, the three of us, we can get through this."

Sam opted for maple syrup instead of his usual choice of blueberries. He's going to need the small pleasures in life if, no, when all hell breaks loose.

* * *

><p>The next two days passed without any major incidents or disasters, both Sam and Castiel on high alert at all times. Under their constant scrutiny, Dean grew frustrated and started snapping – Sam almost convinced himself Dean was getting back to normal.<p>

Dean confined himself back to his room, away from the nannying and the concerned looks. He read, he listened to his music and he slept.

* * *

><p><em>Blood dripped from the Blade and his fists. Manic laughter filled the air as people ran away in all directions. Two people lay dead at his feet, blood oozing out from under their cold, lifeless bodies. He turned around to survey the scene, taking in the chaos that surrounded him. He caught his own reflection in a car window – his eyes were black. <em>

_Someone was screaming. _

No, the sound was coming out of his mouth. He sat up quickly, lungs gasping for breath, chest heaving. A sheen of sweat coated his body, making the t-shirt stick to his body uncomfortably. He had to get it off, he had to make it stop.

He tried to jump out of bed, pulling his t-shirt up as he went but his feet tangled in the sheets and he fell to the floor with a thud.

He struggled, panicking and constricted. He had to get out.

He couldn't breath. Tears stung his eyes. He had to get out.

Strong hands gripped his arms, pulling him up.

His chest was tight. He had to get out.

Hands, other hands.

Suddenly his legs were free.

His legs were free but he couldn't move his arms.

So hot, so stifling. He had to get out.

Suddenly his arms were free.

Cool air hit his chest and back. Air. He gasped it in.

He pushed away the hands but they came back. Big hands gripped his arms, pulling him back to reality.

The mist started to clear, he heard voices. He was in his room, safe in the Bunker. He was in his room and Sam was there. Sam was there holding him by the arms and saying something.

His chest loosened, his breathing came in short sharp gasps and tears streamed down his face, dripping onto his naked chest. He started to shake as Sam pulled him close, wrapping big strong arms around him and whispering into his hair.

The words were clearer now.

"I got you buddy. You're safe, Dean. Everything's okay now."

Dean's arms felt like lead as he tried to hug Sam back, clinging onto the back of his shirt with what little strength he could muster.

"I-" He choked into Sam's shoulder. "I- I was a de- demon."

Sam held him as a cried.


	6. Chapter 6

Sam woke up as the first cry filtered into his room. He got up quickly and padded to the door as the second cry echoed down the corridor. He'd been on edge since they got Dean back, sleeping lightly with one ear out for his brother. He started running down the corridor to his brother's room.

He'd experienced Dean's nightmares before on countless occasions, after the crap they'd both been through over the years it was surprising they managed to get any sleep at all. Dean's usual coping mechanism when the dreams started getting too much was to drink until he passed out so his body wouldn't allow itself to dream. Sam had tried that a few times, when things got really bad, but it was a flimsy band aid over a gaping wound and sooner or later you have to face up to your problems or you'd snap. He wasn't going to let Dean internalise or ignore this; it was too big for one man to deal with on his own, it wasn't healthy.

As Dean started screaming, Sam ran head on into Castiel coming from the other direction. There was no time for apologies, both men pushed off each other and sprinted into Dean's room.

They watched as Dean tumbled to the floor, struggling to get free of the bed sheet around his legs, his t-shirt pulled up over his head trapped on his elbows. His bare chest heaved as he kicked and thrashed, a bundle of legs and elbows, his screams had turned into frantic whines and harsh intakes of breath.

"Dean!" Sam cried, quickly moving over to Dean and carefully avoided a foot to the crotch. "Dean! Calm down, it's okay. We'll get you out."

Sam kept talking to him as he grabbed the older man by the arms and hoisted him up. Castiel was suddenly next to him, crouching to pull the sheet from around Dean's feet and almost earning a knee in the face in reward. With the sheet in his hands he stood and moved to the other side of the room, dumping the sweat soaked sheet in the corner.

"Dean, it's okay, it was just a dream." Sam murmured shifting his grip on Dean.

Getting Dean's legs free seemed to help calm him slightly, the frantic whines had turned to sobs but he was still sweating and gasping for air. As Sam pulled the t-shirt up over Dean's elbows, past his shoulders and over his head, Castiel turned the old electric fan on sending cool air around the room.

"Dean, come on man," Sam grunted as Dean pushed his hands away, but he put them back on his brother's arms and held on tight. He could tell Dean wasn't quite with them yet, his eyes were unfocused and he still had a look of sheer terror on his face. "Dean, it's me, Sammy. I've got you, you're alright."

Dean stopped struggling and looked up at Sam, tears streaming down his cheeks and his body starting to tremble. _Oh God, this is it. He knows. _Sam pulled his brother into his chest and wrapped his arms around shaking shoulders.

"I got you buddy. You're safe, Dean. Everything's okay now." He felt Dean's arms move around his back, clinging onto his shirt for dear life.

"I- I- I was a de- demon."

A tear escaped Sam's eye as he pressed his cheek to Dean's wet hair, holding on tighter and letting his brother cry. It wasn't a luxury they allowed themselves very often, crying, especially not crying AND hugging. Sam knew that if Dean hadn't just woken up in full on panic attack, he'd have pushed Sam away in a flash but Sam knew it was what Dean needed right now – to hold on to someone and let it all out.

Castiel had watched the exchange from a distance, not wanting to get in the way or make matters worse. He was frustrated he couldn't just walk up to Dean and work his 'angel mojo' to help his friend, so instead he did what he could. As the brothers stood clinging to each other, Castiel stripped the rest of the sweat sodden bedding off Dean's bed and found clean linen in one of the draws. Once the bed had been re-made, he pulled out two clean t-shirts and a pair of boxers from the chest of draws and laid them out next to where Sam and Dean were standing.

Dean's breathing was almost back to normal, broken by the occasional sob, but there didn't seem to be any more tears falling. His shoulders were drooped in exhaustion and most of his weight was supported by Sam. He shivered slightly, which did not go unnoticed. Sam took it as his cue to pull back and get Dean into some clean clothes.

Sam couldn't remember Dean as a kid, he remembered Dean being there when he was a kid so by default Dean must have been a kid too, but he couldn't remember ever seeing him so small and vulnerable like a child. Dean had always been his big brother, his protector – his mother, father, friend and teacher. Seeing Dean standing in front of him now, shoulders slumped and eyes looking up at him like a kicked puppy, it scared him. What if this is what finally broke Dean Winchester?

Sam helped Dean into the clean t-shirt and looked away as he slipped the new boxers on. He replaced his own t-shirt with the other Castiel had found, the one he had been wearing was soaked in tears and snot –_ dude, gross! _

"Thanks, Cas." Sam smiled at the man he'd ignored for the last ten or fifteen minutes, noticing how tidy the room had become again. "I think I'll stay here tonight."

Castiel nodded, "Of course, if you need anything just call. Goodnight, Dean."

"Turn down service and everything, we should really pay him more." Sam joked when Castiel had gone.

Dean didn't respond, letting Sam guide him onto the bed and under the covers. He curled onto his side and closed his eyes without a sound.

Sam sighed. He turned the main light off, opting to keep the small desk light on to give Dean some comfort if he woke up again. He climbed into the bed behind Dean and turned off the bedside light.

"Sammy," Dean whispered in the semi-darkness after a few minutes.

"Yeah, De."

"Remember when I made you watch Hellraiser when we were kids?"

Sam chuckled. "Scared the shit out of me, I was six."

"Yeah, scared me too."

Dean had been ten and hadn't admit that he'd been scared at the time. The cogs started turning in Sam's head. The night they'd watched that movie, Sam wouldn't go to sleep and insisted on staying up to watch cartoons with his older brother. When Dean had finally twigged that Sam was scared to go to bed on his own, Dean had turned the TV off and got into bed with the six-year-old, hugging him until he fell asleep.

Sam moved to the middle of the bed and reached out, pulling his older brother towards him. Dean's back to Sam's chest, his head tucked under Sam's chin and a strong arm wrapped around his waist.

"No chick flick moments."

"Go to sleep, Dean."

* * *

><p>When Dean woke up the next morning, Sam was gone and Castiel was sitting at his desk reading. He almost laughed at the watch system his brother and friend seemed to have set up, until he remembered why he needed a watch in place.<p>

The dream last night came flooding back all too vividly for Dean's liking, he'd hoped it was just a dream but Sam hadn't said anything last night to contradict him when he said he'd been a demon.

"Shit," he mumbled out loud. Rubbing his hands over his face.

Castiel looked up from whichever American classic he'd picked up to read next. "Good morning, Dean."

"Is it, Cas?"

The blue eyed man frowned. "I suppose it depends on your definition of 'good'."

Dean sat up and scowled. "I've just learned I was a demon for the best part of a year and that's all you've got to say to me? It depends on my definition of 'good'?"

"What would you like me to say?"

"I dunno, man." Dean stood and strode to the door. "How about an explanation?" He kept talking as he walked out of the room, Castiel took it as a sign he should follow so Dean could continue his rant. "Maybe the two of you could enlighten me on what the hell happened in the last ten months. Maybe give a guy some warning before he starts to remember the God awful things he did as a freakin' demon! Or maybe, just maybe, you could let me know how I ended up back here, human, no Blade, no Mark, no nothing!"

By the time Dean had finished they were both in the kitchen facing a startled Sam.

"Morning to you too, Dean."

"Screw you," Dean flopped down onto one of the stools at the table. "Now spill."

Sam and Castiel shared a look before taking seats opposite Dean. They started from the beginning, telling Dean about what happened after his confrontation with Metatron, how Sam carried his lifeless body back to the Bunker and how Dean had disappeared leaving only a note. Castiel filled him in about Heaven and his quest with Hannah to round up the last remaining angels on earth. They told him about Sam's own quest to find Dean and cure him, they didn't spare any detail about the demons he'd tortured or the man he had used to bait a crossroads demon. Castiel explained about his failing grace and how Crowley had killed an angel to save him, in return for getting rid of his little Dean Winchester problem.

"So that's it then? You saved me?" Dean looked hopefully up at Castiel who couldn't meet his gaze.

"Dean, what we've told you, that all took place in the space of two months," Sam said placing three mugs of coffee down in front of them and taking his seat again.

"But, you tried the blood cure and you had a fully loaded angel."

"Dean, I was too late." Castiel sighed, looking up from his hands. "When I got to the Bunker you'd already gone."

"What happened?"

Sam hesitated and seemed to be fascinated with the half dissolved coffee granule floating around on the top of his coffee. "You escaped. The cure wasn't working the way it should've. It made you human enough that the devil's trap and handcuffs didn't work, but the Mark made you stronger."

"I didn't try and kill you, did I?"

"I'm alive aren't I?" Sam forced a smile and stood up. "Cas can fill you in on the rest." And with that, he was gone out of the room.

Dean stared after his brother, confused and a little hurt at the brush off. He turned his attention back to Castiel.

"What happened?"

"You hurt him, Dean. I don't think he's ready to talk about it yet," Cas took a long sip of coffee, laced his usual four sugars.

Dean studied Castiel's face, taking in the lines around his eyes and across his forehead, much more pronounced than that last time he'd seen him.

"What about you? How did you end up back here?"

"After you escaped, I stayed for a few days to make sure Sam was okay and you weren't coming back. Then I hit the road with Hannah, picking up stray angels and returning them to Heaven. I came back here regularly to check in on Sam. But all that effort, it has a cost. I used up the stolen grace again, I was very sick. Just when I thought I was about to die I ended up back on earth, cold and very much human. So I made my way across the country and I've been here every since, helping Sam search for a cure for the Mark of Cain and to find any sign of you, the demon you."

Dean met Castiel's gaze and held it.

"And did you?"

"No, we didn't have any leads until you called."

* * *

><p>Dean didn't push Sam for information about what happened the night he escaped, he knew that if Sam wanted to talk he would – and God knows when Sam wanted to talk you couldn't shut the guy up.<p>

No, instead he mulled over the information he knew now and started to fit his nightmares into the timeline. Anything with Crowley, karaoke and girls seemed to fit into the first month or so, the scarier dreams he presumed happened later on when the Mark had made him much stronger.

He stopped sleeping, or tried to. Whenever he closed his eyes, he was worried he'd wake up in a sweat-ridden panic with even more horrific memories.

It was a few days until Sam and Castiel noticed he wasn't eating. As the nightmares came more frequently, Dean found his appetite had gone and only managed a small portion of whatever meal Sam put on his plate at meal times, surviving on coffee and will power.

The truth was, Dean wasn't coping very well at all.


	7. Chapter 8

**Author's note:** Chapter 7 contains graphic content so can be read on (warning: the demon rapes Sam) but can be skipped - everything you need to know should be covered in Chapter 8.

**Chapter 8**

Dean woke with a start, the images of Sam bruised, bloody and crying on the cold floor of the Bunker burned into his skull. He was panting, a heavy twisted feeling in his gut. Oh God, he was going to throw up.

He just made it to the waste paper basket just as the contents of last night's dinner made a reappearance. He wiped his mouth on a discarded t-shirt from his desk chair and sat back against the cool stone wall, drawing his knees up to his chest and resting his forehead on them.

It can't be right, that dream, memory... He wouldn't do that to Sammy, ever. He wouldn't do that to anyone, would he? Was it the demon? Was it the Mark? Or was it him? Maybe he was fucked up in the head. But fucked up enough to rape his brother? So maybe he never had the best mental health, but how many hunters could say they did? The years on the road, his crappy upbringing, the shit they'd had to deal with over the years on hunts, not to mention his stint in Hell – they could all do things to a man's head. Bad things. But not this, please lord not this!

Dean shook his head. This couldn't be right, he couldn't have done those things... But the image of Sam crying in a naked heap on the floor just wouldn't leave him alone. He lifted his head and rubbed his eyes, his hands came away wet – he hadn't even realised he'd been crying.

Sam was sat at his desk, hunched over an ancient book he'd found in one of the rooms in the depths of the Bunker they'd started exploring that week. He knew it was late, that he should get some sleep before he would have to get up and supervise Castiel's attempt at breakfast – the amount of time that guy had almost given himself food poisoning – but the book on Sumerian folklore was fascinating

At least that's what he was telling himself. Truth be told, since Dean had started to remember his time as a demon, Sam had been more on edge waiting for the ball to drop. Sam didn't want Dean to remember, to see through his eyes what the demon had done. He'd put his demons to rest on the matter months ago, with a lot of help from Castiel and the Bunker's extensive library of books on demons and psychology. It would be hard to convince Dean of that and harder to get Dean past it.

A tentative knock on the door broke him out of his thoughts, he knew it was open and in the pit of his stomach, he knew it was Dean.

He plastered a fake smile on his face and turned around. The smile dropped as soon as he saw his brother's red eyes and the tear stains on his cheeks.

Damn.

"Dean," Sam rose from the chair and stepped into the middle of the room. "Did you have another nightmare?"

Dean's eyebrows knitted together as he looked at his little brother in confusion. Dean couldn't understand how Sam was still so filled with compassion for him after everything that happened.

"Sammy-" Dean stopped himself, remembering how the demon used that pet name. "Sam, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good." He tried a smile, a genuine one this time.

Dean nodded. "Good."

The older man turned to leave but paused in the doorway, head bowed and voice shaky when he spoke. "No, Sam. You say you're good but the dream I just had says otherwise." He turned and looked up at his brother with pleading eyes. "Tell me it didn't happen, that you're really okay. Don't lie to me, Sammy."

Sam approached the doorway where Dean was still stood cautiously.

"I really am fine, okay?"

"Cut the crap and tell me I didn't rape you!" Dean snapped. "You've been avoiding me as much as you can since I got back, so don't tell me you're fine."

Sam hesitated and looked down at his feet, unable to meet Dean's eyes when he whispered, "It happened."

Dean bent over like he'd been hit in the stomach, hands braced on his thighs and gasping for air. His heart beat quickened and he felt like he was going to hurl again. He pushed past Sam and dry heaved into the small trash can next to the desk.

Sam knelt next to Dean, who stayed face down in the trash can, rubbing circles on his brother's back. "It wasn't you, Dean. What the demon did, he did to hurt us both."

Dean cried silently, using the trash can more to hide his face than as a vomit catcher. The only tell was the small shake in his shoulders. Sam pulled him up and into a hug, Dean's back to Sam's chest, and let him cry.

Sam spoke, not really knowing if Dean could even hear him or not.

"I promise you, I'm doing okay. I might still have some things to work through, but I'm a hell of a lot better than I was. I'm not going to lie, it was hard to understand what happened, let alone deal with it. If Cas hadn't turned up when he did... He healed me and he stayed with me, Hannah too although she mostly stayed out of the way. There were moments when I-" He sighed at the memory of how low he'd felt at the time. "Cas stopped me from doing a lot of stupid things in the first few weeks, Dean."

"Weeks?" Dean sniffed. "Cas said he was here for a few days."

"Almost three weeks. I don't know what I would have done without him... I- I wouldn't be here."

Dean pushed out of Sam's grip and scrambled to his feet, pacing to the other side of the room and halfway back.

"I did this to-"

"It wasn't you, Dean." Sam cut Dean off. "It took me a long time to realise that, and yeah, I hated you for a while back there but then I realised it wasn't you. None of it, those things you said and the things you did... it was the demon, not you, not my brother."

"I dunno, Sammy..."

"The demon said you, the real you, were MIA when I was trying to cure him. You have to separate what he did with who you are." Sam was at a loss, he didn't know how he could make Dean see that it wasn't his fault. "The demon, he said he didn't want to be cured, he said he liked the disease - but you didn't did you, Dean? You wanted to be human?"

"I- I don't know. Part of me thought those things."

"Not you Dean, the demon. You've got his thoughts and memories but you need to ignore those. Looking back now, you're glad you're not that anymore, right? Not a monster?"

"Dammit, this is so fucking messed up." Dean sat on the edge of Sam's bed, back to his brother and cradled his head in his hands. The conflicting emotions, or lack there of, of what he felt now and what he remembered feeling as the demon were giving him a headache.

Sam moved tentatively across the bed and placed a gentle hand on Dean's shoulder, cringing as Dean flinched away from the touch. He left the hand there and waiting for Dean to get his thoughts together.

"When I was that _thing_ I did like it, the power and the pain. Making people suffer in the worst ways possible. But before and now... I never wanted that Sammy and I'm really glad you tried to cure me but I can't ever make up for the things I did to you, I can't live with myself for what I did to you."

"Dammit, Dean. I played the conversations we had in the dungeon over and over in my head after that night, I tried to analyse them from every angle to make sense of it. You know what made me realise it wasn't you? The demon kept talking about you as if you'd gone on holiday, like you'd left the building. I knew part of you must still be there because he kept bringing up things, personal things, but he was twisting them, putting his own evil spin on what actually happened – he was using your memories and your thoughts to manipulate me, and I think he was letting you see and feel it all because he wanted to torture you too." Sam was on his feet in front of his brother, pacing in the small space between the bed and the wall. "If it was you, Dean, you wouldn't have kept me alive, you wouldn't have- You wouldn't have done what he did and you definitely wouldn't have let me live to remember it. That was all demon."

"But the Mark turned _me_ into a demon, I wasn't possessed. It was me."

Sam moved over to the pile of books piled against his bedside table, he pulled two thick hardbacks and a file of papers out of the pile and set them down on Dean's lap before sitting next to him.

"The Men of Letters were studying demons, in depth, everything from different types of possession to all the ways to cure a demon. We knew that much already, but a few months ago I found this file. It turns out that before the Bunker was abandoned, one of The Men of Letters was writing a book about what makes a demon a demon – basically Demon Psych 101."

"What are you saying?" Dean looked at the spines of the tomes on his lap, a collection of works by Sigmund Freud and a book titled 'Demons' with The Men of Letters insignia underneath.

"These books helped me, maybe they'll help you too."

Dean gave Sam a sceptical glance but agreed to give it a go. He wasn't the academic type like Sam, he didn't have much faith in his ability to comprehend much if any of the topics covered in either book.

"You got to promise me something, Sammy."

"What?"

"If I ever turn into a damn monster again, you kill me as soon as you get the chance. I don't want to hurt you anymore." Dean looked up into his brother's eyes, a raw intensity to them. "Promise me little brother!"

Sam pulled Dean into his chest, wrapping both arms around shaking shoulders.

"And you do the same for me, no excuses?"

"No excuses," Dean muttered into his chest.

"Then I promise."


End file.
